Prick My Heart
by soda-rebel
Summary: It's hard to be the royals of Spades, but Alfred and Arthur make it work. For midnightleone on Tumblr, once again.


The Kingdom of Spades were a proud people. Proud of their towns and streets that glittered with pure sapphire. Proud of their heritage that held volumes upon volumes of victories. Most of all, the people of Spades were proud of their kingdom that had asserted itself as one of the strongest empires of the world. But the Kingdom of Spades was not proud of their royals.

It was common knowledge that in order to keep the gifts bestowed upon them by the previous kings and queens, the royal bloodline had to be ruthless. Each new ruler was more cunning, more heartless than the next until the kingdom outright rebelled against their tyranny. From that day forth, the royal bloodline was determined by two magic imbued clocks, one for the king and one for the queen. After the death of a monarch, the clocks would be rewound, signaling the birth of the next era. The clocks would choose the best fit rulers from among the citizens. Sometimes they were upper class, sometimes common folk. But it was always a mystery as to whom the crown belonged to next. Which, of course, lead to the present king and queen: Alfred F. Jones and Arthur Kirkland.

Arthur was a man built for the kingdom, but not in the sense of royalty. He had joined in the ranks of knights hoping to defend his country, willing to lay down his life if needed. His sacrifice never came to be. A day before Arthur's knighting ceremony, a bold blue spade rose up from the depths of his skin to brand him forever. On that day, he was forced to lay down his sword and pick up peace treaties and champagne glasses instead.

Alfred had less of an honorable background. Witness to the lowest slums in Spades, the orphaned Jones boy had made a living pickpocketing and pilfering from anyone who could spare it. He had been decent as a thief, but only just. It's always the decent thieves that end up at the gallows. Alfred would have been hung too, had it not been for the spade symbol that abruptly glimmered into view. He was escorted into a life so luxurious he was almost sick.

A man for a queen and a thief for a king. They were a duo that brought shame upon Spades. Yet, the country couldn't have been better. From his days living on the streets, Alfred knew what funds to give to what cities and what ports to put more taxes into.

Arthur, a master in negotiations, was given the task of peacekeeping between countries. He had even managed to bargain with Ivan, the difficult ruler of the East.

In fact, it was from a meeting with the said man that the king and queen were returning from.

Arthur sighed as he leaned ungraciously against the cushioned insides of the carriage. Ivan was still as stiff as ever, but it was nothing a couple drinks couldn't help. Or three. Or four. Or twenty. It was a good thing his newfound magic burned up the alcohol quickly. Suddenly, after being out from the scrutiny of others, Arthur remembered the jabbing pains against his ribs. Damn corsets. Quickly, he shed the coat and shirts he wore.

"Alfred," he singsonged. "Be a dear and unlace me will you? I would, but you know I can't move in these blasted abominations."

Alfred, who had been sitting and waiting patiently in the carriage the entire time, leaned over to help him. The first freed lace felt like a boulder was lifted off of Arthur's chest.

"So how'd it go?" Alfred asked.

"As it usually does," Arthur replied, breathing a bit deeper the farther down Alfred went. "It's Ivan. If I can count on one thing, it's that he never changes."

"You know what I meant, did he threaten war or –ah, I got it!" With an accomplished smile, Alfred peeled away the corset that hid Arthur's natural and familiar shape. Along with the corset, two small daggers and a relatively decent sized knife tumbled to the floor.

"What?" Arthur asked, after seeing Alfred's stunned face.

"That's not safe at all, Arthur!" Alfred worried about his reckless husband, sometimes. Just think, if one of those daggers had shifted…

"You're one to talk, love," Arthur laughed. "Don't tell me you haven't hidden weapons under your breeches."

Alfred had, he'd give him that. "Fair enough. Just, promise to be careful how you place them?"

"Why darling," Arthur smiled, running a hand over Alfred's shoulder, "If I was careful, I wouldn't have loved you." Arthur leaned in close, so close that Alfred could feel each new rebirthed breath against his skin. Alfred felt Arthur's beautiful smile pressed against his lips, gentle like a lapping wave. The bitterness of some sort of berry wine was fresh in his mouth.

"I suppose that makes two of us, charming Highness," Alfred mumbled. He was slipping into the security of Arthur, in his hands that had always been softly covered in calluses. In Arthur's smell, something like old parchment, stamps, and warm, herby magic. In Arthur's eyes, a reflective pool of green that seemed electric with life. Until Arthur, precious, warm, Arthur, pulled away.

Alfred, of course, whined and tried to go back to some sort of embrace. But Arthur was redressing and thinking, his corset abandoned on the floors of the carriage. Alfred could tell Arthur was worried by the way his smile grew thin and his eyes glittered with intensity.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

Arthur looked perplexed. It was clear his magic was restless, their bond through the spade mark made it certain.

"I don't know," he finally said. "Maybe I'm just overreacting. My magic always acts up when we leave the borders."

Alfred furrowed his brows. Overreacting or not, they still needed to be careful. "Are you sure, Arthur? Because if it's something–".

"No, no, I'm probably just picking up Ivan's magic. He lets loose when he drinks." Or so that was what Arthur said. He chose to ignore the voice that screamed somewhere in the corners of his mind that Ivan's magic would've been undetectable for miles. But it seemed to have calmed Alfred, so he allowed it.

"Alright, I believe you, darling."

Arthur scoffed. "As you should." With a mischievous glint to his eyes, he added, "Now, I believe you were in the middle of ravishing me?"

Alfred happily–and practically–leaped back onto Arthur, showering him with kisses and fleeting touches. Arthur almost purred from the treatment.

"Are you gonna be ok for the knighting ceremony tomorrow?" Alfred asked, cupping Arthur's face in his hands.

Arthur stilled at the question, knowing well that his old comrades would be seeing him for the first time in months. Shaking the doubt away, he held Alfred's hand gently, squeezing it a little for reassurance. "I'll be just fine, love. That's for me to worry about, anyway. What you need to be concerned about is the meeting with Ludwig tomorrow."

Alfred physically slouched. "Can't you do that, Arthur?" he whined.

"We made a deal, Alfred," he reminded. "I take Ivan tonight and you take Ludwig whenever he calls."

"But Artie, he's boring!" Alfred groaned, sinking further into the carriage cushions.

As if being royalty didn't mean piles of "boring" paperwork mound after boring paperwork mound. Most of which Arthur was in charge of. Alfred wasn't really the reading type.

"I don't understand why you can't be king," Alfred grumbled. "You'd be great for Spades. They'd love you."

Arthur sighed. They had gone over this a thousand times at least. "Spades needs both of us to survive." He took both of Alfred's hands in his, letting his thumb trace small circles onto them. "And that's just not my place as queen."

Alfred kissed him on the lips, softly. It was a precious fleeting warmth. "Why? Wouldn't they be satisfied?" Alfred mumbled.

Arthur rolled his eyes, amused as usual by his king's antics. "The people barely love me as the queen, and you think they'd accept me as king?"

"Who says they hate you?" he asked.

"Alfred dear," he sighed, "You should know by now that queens are made to appease the people, and I've never even been good at appeasing. They have a right to be upset."

Alfred smiled a devious little smile. "I wouldn't say that. I was pretty 'appeased' last night."

"How vulgar." But Arthur smiled and laughed all the same. "You're a lovely king, darling. Don't doubt yourself." He kissed Alfred briefly, it was just a peck, really. Alfred cherished it all the same.

And then their carriage shuddered to an unnatural halt.

Alfred, confused, called to the carriage driver. "What's the meaning of thi–?" Arthur clamped a hand over his mouth, his intense green eyes telling Alfred not to make a sound.

They listened as the barely audible crunches of boots surrounded them. Alfred reached for a sword he managed to smuggle under a loose board. Arthur let go of Alfred and picked up both of his corset daggers.

They stilled when the carriage door handle turned ever so slightly. Arthur darted his eyes at Alfred's, nodding toward the door. In three seconds flat, Alfred kicked door back. A slam told them that someone had definitely been knocked out. They leaped out of the carriage, confirming that they were surrounded. The assassins were covered in black fabric–even their faces–except for one detail. On each chest, a patterned number of spade symbols were painted. There seemed to be ten of them in all, including the one groaning by the carriage.

"Who sent you?" Alfred yelled.

They were silent, almost inhumanely silent. One man with the three of spades finally spoke. "Your people."

Alfred didn't get the chance to shout or really react. The circle moved in on them, dangerously slashing the air around them.

"You take the left and I'll take the right," Arthur said, throwing his daggers into the closest men.

Alfred took off at the command, slashing at the limbs of those closest to him. When a four of spades came close, he sent a small blue flame at him. Though his magic couldn't rival Arthur's, Alfred was decent at small bursts.

Speaking of, Arthur immediately called his magic after discarding his daggers. It snaked through the air, crackling and hissing like a live bolt of lightning. Quickly, it wove and settled just barely above Arthur's fingertips. They were essentially daggers made of his soul that waited for a chance to slash and sting and cut. Better than any corset dagger, that's for damn sure. The earth shook as Arthur pulled up roots using his magic to pull and ensnare the assassins with. If Alfred hadn't been married to him, Arthur would've looked pretty damn menacing.

Alfred only looked away for a second. He nailed an assassin in the back, and spun to see Arthur absolutely decimating more than their agreed "half". It was the most alive he'd seen Arthur in days. He was just so…confident, so relaxed. One more ripple of thorns and plunge of a sword and Arthur had finished off the last of them. Alfred had run up to him, excitement on his tongue and love in his heart. Alfred practically crashed into Arthur, swords clanging together and rejoicing their reunion. He ran his free gloved hand over Arthur's face, checking for deep cuts or burns.

"I'm fine," Arthur sighed. But under that sigh, he still held the wonderful perfume of fondness and relief.

"I just wanna check," Alfred reassured him. "I need to see that you're in one piece, I'd rip them a new one if, I swear to Spades—"

Arthur hushed him and kissed the space between his eyelid and brow. "You'll take down an entire kingdom with your temper," he chuckled.

"I'd do it if it was for you, my Highness." Alfred kissed the bridge of Arthur's nose, feeling the warm exhale against his neck.

"I love you so much, Alfred."

And that was all he'd ever say of that.

When Alfred and Arthur were enraptured in each other's eyes and beating hearts, one assassin–he had five white spades painted across his chest–mustered up what strength he had left to plunge his sword deep into Arthur. It cut under the bone of his shoulder blade, past his clothes, and eventually poked out from his chest. The sound it made was sickly, somewhere between a crunch and a wet snap. The assassin twisted the blade and yanked it out. The entire scene took less than a minute.

Arthur looked up at Alfred, fear in his eyes and blood dripping from his chest. The world stood still.

"Al–?" But Arthur had trouble saying that. He fell. Alfred grabbed for him, setting Arthur down as soft as he could. Arthur choked on the blood that welled up in his lungs.

He was scared, Spades was he scared.

Arthur dry heaved–no, it crackled too much to be a dry heave. Arthur gasped for air, drowning in an ocean of his own lifeline. His eyes were wild, looking everywhere and nowhere, refusing to make contact with Alfred's equally frightened ones.

"Artie, you're going to be ok. You're going to be ok, I'm sure we'll get help soon."

But Arthur never said a thing. He continued gasping and tearing his throat up with the gargled sounds he made. Arthur didn't seem to feel the gentle hands against his face, holding, feeling, loving him.

"Artie, Artie, please don't leave," Alfred cried. "I'm not–I can't be a king without you."

Arthur's eyes were weary, and the ground around him was slick with his blood. He held Alfred's gaze for a second, maybe even two. Alfred held onto it, almost like a sign, kissing Arthur's still warm lips. Alfred's lips turned sickly bitter, coated with oily blood. He didn't care. Alfred could taste the tang of blood in his mouth. He didn't care. Arthur's fluttering lashes tickled his cheeks. He didn't care.

"Al?" he managed to whisper against Alfred's lips. " 'M scared."

Alfred held him, gripped the sides of Arthur's sleeves until his knuckles turned white. "Don't be, I've got you." Alfred tried to smile, he tried so badly to sound brave. But then Arthur exhaled softly, so softly Alfred almost missed it. It was a relinquishing breath, the kind of breath that only gave and never took.

"Arthur?" Alfred squeaked.

Arthur never breathed again.

A fury bubbled up in Alfred, an all-consuming blind fury. He lunged at the barely standing assassin with his sword. They didn't move as Alfred, snarling and pained, raised his sword. In one wide arc, Alfred severed the assassin's head. It went tumbling onto the forest leaves, slicking the ground with gore. Alfred turned to dare an enemy to stand, he dared them to even consider living after the example he set. To his slight disappointment, not a single one moved. He was in a forest of death.

With no more men to kill, Alfred wandered back to Arthur like a battered ship to a lighthouse.

Arthur's unblinking eyes stared at the sky, almost as if he was asking it a question. His lips were still slightly parted, almost like he was on the verge of speaking his mind. Yet Arthur still looked so pained, even in death.

Alfred couldn't help but fall to his knees, hands shaking as he brushed some of Arthur's fringe from those dulled unblinking eyes.

"My highness, my dear highness," he whispered, his voice breaking.

He cried as he held Arthur's stiffening body. He cried knowing that it was the people who had done this, people who should have cared more than anything about Arthur. In some cruel and twisted away, Alfred thought it was fitting that only he loved Arthur best.

It hit Alfred that he couldn't go back to the kingdom now. He didn't want to lead a kingdom that only took from him, and he doubted that the people of Spades wanted him anyways.

After picking himself up, Alfred dried his eyes. He took a few minutes to pick some wildflowers and gathered them into a bouquet. Even if Spades didn't care for Arthur, Alfred knew he deserved a respectable sendoff.

As he shoveled dirt with his hands, Alfred numbly thought of Arthur. That laugh, the one that was just barely one note above a snicker. His gentle voice, the one he only used for Alfred. The last kiss they shared and the warmth of his lips against Alfred's.

It was never the crown that had made Alfred king. The magic had chosen him for the role, but Arthur was the one that molded him into a fitting king. Arthur who encouraged, Arthur who believed his abilities before anyone else. Arthur who had led and reassured him every step of the way. Alfred didn't know how he would live a life without him.

So Alfred left sword, crown, and queen buried deep in the earth, spending his days as a wanderer wallowing in his grief.


End file.
